White Sand, Volume 1

by Brandon Sanderson

  Khriss frowned. Who could he possibly … ? Feeling a little embarrassed—but only a little—she peeked through the open door and scanned the room. Eric reclined on his bunk, staring up at the ceiling. There was no one else in the room.

  “He’s going to drag you down with him,” Eric continued. “Already, you feel as if you have some stake in this stupid contest. You feel that if he doesn’t succeed, you will have somehow failed. How did you let yourself get pulled into something like this? Next thing you know, he’ll try to talk you into being captain of his personal guard.”

  Why is he talking to himself? Khriss wondered, rechecking the room for another occupant. She shook her head. You’ve always known he was a little odd, she reminded herself, leaving the door behind and continuing on up to the deck.

  Kenton stood by the bow, looking out over the passing waters, and Delious was speaking with the captain. Cynder sat in the same place as before, compiling a list of words he had collected from Lossandin, trying to outline the language’s grammatical structure with the help of the diminutive Lord Merchant. All of them seemed absorbed in what they were doing, and didn’t appear as if they would appreciate an interruption. And, since Eric was talking to himself and Baon was down below napping, Khriss was left without anything to do.

  Well, I’ll go bother Kenton, she decided. He’s used to it. Besides, it isn’t good for him to spend so much time thinking about his fight with Drile. Besides, she had something she wanted to talk to him about—something she had been avoiding for the last few days.

  She approached quietly, but he noticed her anyway, turning to see who it was, then smiling when he realized it was Khriss.

  Once that would have been a scowl, she realized. He would have been annoyed when he saw it was me. What changed?

  She walked over, leaning against the wale beside him. The water rushed below, looking so cool and refreshing. She was almost tempted to leap in. Of course, even if the ship hadn’t been moving, that probably wouldn’t have been a good idea. The daysiders would all immediately assume she had gone insane.

  “I don’t think two weeks have ever passed more quickly,” Kenton said, staring out across the water.

  Khriss nodded, regarding his contemplative face. The weeks may have passed quickly, but it seemed like each day had contained a year’s worth of experiences. Kenton had grown solemn and responsible during that time. He still had the same smirk, but it was tempered by discerning eyes and an earnest temperament.

  “If only I had another week,” he said quietly. “Time to firm up my support, time to make certain the Taisha really will vote for me. Time to get my powers back … .”

  “Everyone always wishes for more time,” Khriss said. “It’s human nature. Next week always seems better than right now.”

  “Not always,” Kenton said, turning to meet her eyes. “Some moments I wish would never pass. Sometimes I wish I could drift in the here, wish that next week would never come. Some instants are special.”

  Khriss couldn’t speak for a long time. She simply stood, staring into his bright daysider eyes. They were so colorful—she’d never noticed that before. They had no Skycolor, but the seemed to shine anyway. Blue, with flecks of green.

  Eventually he turned, looking back across the moving shore. Behind them, Khriss heard Eric’s voice speaking with Cynder—the daysider must have finished his conversation with himself and come up on deck.

  “The Kershtians say immortality is being held in the Sand Lord’s memory for all time,” Kenton whispered. “As long as he knows you, you live on.” He turned back to her. “Remember me,” he requested.

  “Don’t talk like that,” she said. “You’ll live.”

  Kenton didn’t respond.

  “Come back with me,” Khriss suddenly heard herself blurt.

  “What?” Kenton asked.

  Inside, Khriss cursed her lack of tact. She’d been wondering how to make the offer without sounding too forward. She’d spoken now, however. There was nothing to do now but continue on.

  “Come back to darkside with me,” she repeated. “Don’t let him kill you, Kenton. Come to Elis with me. You’ll like it there—darkside is a beautiful place.”

  Kenton smiled slightly. “You should have asked me two weeks ago,” he replied, “before I learned responsibility.”

  “You’ll die!” Khriss objected. “There’s no responsibility in that. You’ve done your best—once we find the Lord General, we can leave. The Diem will be safe.”

  Kenton shook his head. “And how would the Taisha regard such an act?” he asked. “The sand masters have been cowards through the history of Lossand, Khriss. They hid behind their power, never taking responsibility for what they did. If I run now, I’ll just confirm everything my opposition has been saying. If I die fighting, that is one thing. But I can’t run. I began this, I must do my best to finish it.”

  “Oh, Kenton,” she whispered, searching for hope in his eyes. She had been wrong about him. When she had compared him to Gevin, she had pronounced Gevin perfect and Kenton flawed. How naïve she had been.

  Gevin wasn’t perfect. But, neither was Kenton. That wasn’t the point. Perhaps if she hadn’t idolized Gevin so much, she might have seen what he was trying to tell her.

  Kenton wasn’t perfect, but he was many other things. He had courage and determination—both things she respected in him. He fought on, no matter how horrible things seemed. He made Khriss want to do likewise, made her feel—by association—that Elis really could stand against the Dynasty, that she really could do something to help, and that, despite her recent failures, she could find the things she yearned for.

  Kenton reached out, touching her cheek lightly with the tips of his fingers. The moment, however, was spoiled as the captain began to yell curses. Khriss turned. A smaller ship had come close to getting itself run down by their ship. The captain had his fist raised in the air, and was yelling at the other captain.

  Kenton chuckled, shaking his head. “I haven’t heard that word in a while,” he mumbled.

  Suddenly, Khriss noticed something. The smaller ship wasn’t responding to the captain’s curses. It was still drifting closer to their ship. It was a flat, barge-like vessel, with several figures standing on its deck. Eight of them, their skin an olive tan.

  “Kenton, down!” she said, pushing him to the deck as the archers began to fire. Screams rang out across the ship as sailors dropped, arrows sprouting from their bodies. Ropes thunked against the side of the ship. It took them a moment—the Kershtians didn’t look too happy to be on the water—but they did make it onto the ship, and they immediately turned toward Kenton.

  #

  “Get below decks!” Kenton urged, pushing Khriss toward the open cabin doors. She would probably be safe down there—the assassins were only after him.

  But why shoot the sailors? He thought with confusion. Then he realized why as a couple of sailors pulled out short swords, standing defensively. They were probably trained to deal with the possibility of piracy. Only two were still standing, however—the captain and another man.

  Khriss followed his command, scuttling toward the doorway. Two of the assassins got there first, however, slamming the door closed.

  What? Kenton thought with surprise. Then he saw them throw down the bar, locking the door. Baon and Ais were both down there. Without them, and without his sand mastery … .

  Oh, sands!

  Five of the Kershtians were heading toward them, their weapons held suspiciously, their steps uncertain on the rocking ship’s deck. Still, they were determined, despite their discomfort at being on the water. They had shot off all of their arrows trying to kill him and the sailors. Each of the five had either a sword or a shortspear, however.

  Suddenly, Kenton realized just how much trouble he was in. The Kershtians only paused to see what he would do—his defeat of their comrades in the past had made them wary. As soon as they realized he wasn’t going to use sand, they would attack.

 
I can’t fight five men at once! He thought with despair. Even on a good day, he was lucky if he could defeat a single trained warrior in combat, let alone five. This is it then. He wouldn’t even survive long enough to be killed by Drile.

  #

  Khriss made it halfway to the stairs before the two Kershtians blocked it, holding the portal to keep any more people from coming up on deck. Behind her, Kenton was quickly surrounded by five warriors. The last man moved toward the captain and Delious, holding his zinkall threateningly.

  No! Khriss thought angrily, crouching down and pressing herself against the wale. She had to do something. Without his sand, Kenton was in serious danger.

  She looked anxiously across deck, searching for something to help. The door downstairs was shaking—Baon was probably using something to try battering it open. The two Kershtians were still standing there, however, holding the door shut. Baon wouldn’t dare fire his pistols through, not without knowing who he might hit.

  There was nothing she could do.

  Suddenly, the five Kershtians advanced on Kenton, two swinging at him directly, distracting him while the other three moved around to flank him. Kenton parried recklessly, trying to fight the two men before him while keeping his eye on the ones to the side. It wasn’t working very well.

  Khriss continued to search for help. Cynder and Vey had fled, and were seeking cover on the other side of the ship. Neither one of them would be much help. She turned, desperate.

  At that moment, her eyes me Eric’s. He crouched beside the opposite wale, watching the battle with calm eyes. He wasn’t going to do anything.

  Khriss held his eyes. Please! She tried to communicate the feeling with her eyes. She didn’t know what he could do, but she had seen him in the previous fight. He had at least some experience.

  #

  Eric watched the battle. He saw the sailors fall. He saw the Kershtians effectively barricade the door shut, buying their allies just enough time to perform their duty. He saw Kenton get attacked. He saw Khriss’s pleading look.

  I can’t! he thought with agony. Not this. After so long, not this … .

  Kenton was getting flanked. The two in front were just a distraction—one of the spearmen would get him from behind and it would all be over.

  You are a fool, Kenton! He thought angrily. It’s your fault for losing your powers!

  The Kershtians drew closer. Kenton would be dead in a matter of seconds.

  “It’s your own fault,” Eric whispered. “You should never have come back.”

  #

  Eric moved.

  Khriss watched with wide eyes as he sprang forward, leaping up to the aft deck where the single Kershtian was threatening the captain. The assassin didn’t even have time to turn around as Eric slammed his elbow into the man’s back. Khriss heard a crack, and the Kershtian fell with a cry of pain.

  Eric caught the man’s spear as it fell, reaching over the Kershtian’s shoulder to snatch the weapon out of the air. He spun and jumped, leaping off the upper deck, over the two Kershtians holding the door closed, and engaging the other five from behind.

  One caught a spear in the neck as he turned. The second barely had time to perform an awkward swing before the but of Eric’s weapon sent him backward, his face a splash of red.

  Eric spun, hurling the spear at one of the door-holding Kershtians, taking the man in the chest as he raised his zinkall. Behind Eric, one of the other soldiers swung, but Eric was already ducking. The weapon passed over his head. The Kershtian preformed an awkward backswing, but Eric caught the weapon before it gained momentum.

  Eric twisted his hand in a quick motion, spinning the blade out of the Kershtian’s hand. Eric reached forward, snatching the sword by its hilt in mid-air. The Kershtian fell by his own sword as Eric’s reach for the weapon became a swing in one fluid motion.

  Kenton regarded the exchange with wide eyes. He finally regained his poise and engaged one of the remaining Kershtians. Eric took the second man as Baon finally burst through the door behind them. The large warrior had his pistols out.

  All three Kershtians fell at once One taken in the side by Kenton’s wild swing, one with a pistol bullet in his chest, the third nearly decapitated by Eric’s sword. Khriss sat stunned—the entire battle had only taken a few seconds.

  Eric’s face was twisted horribly with some sort of inner pain. He regarded the weapon in his hand with loathing, as if he wanted to toss it away. He didn’t, however. It was as if the weapon were attached to his hand.

  Kenton approached him. “Eric, I … .”

  Eric hissed his response, pushing past Kenton and striding below deck, the sword still clutched in his hand.

  #

  “Oh, sands …” Kenton whispered, looking over the carnage. Eric’s skill was still there. His motions had been less fluid than Kenton remembered, his thrusts a little less precise, but even an out-of-practice Eric was an awesome sight to behold.

  “This isn’t good,” he said as Khriss approached.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Khriss asked.

  Kenton shook his head. “I don’t know. I never really understood why he left, but it had something to do with this.” He nodded toward the dead Kershtians. “I think he’s afraid of his own ability, Khriss. He was always a gifted fighter—I’ve never seen a man so good with a sword. He never said anything, but I could see it in his eyes. He scared himself, sometimes … .”

  Baon was inspecting the dead, too far away to hear their conversation. “Who did this?” he demanded, standing. “Not you, sand master?”

  Kenton shook his head. “Eric,” he replied.

  “Impossible,” Baon responded, not argumentative, just firm.

  “It’s true.”

  Baon frowned. “If he were a warrior, I would have been able to sense it. Men who fight carry themselves in a certain way, sand master. You do so, I do so, whoever did this should definitely do so.”

  Kenton paused. “Eric is a special case, Baon,” he said.

  “Apparently,” Baon said, still looking disturbed.

  After the fight, the captain had immediately begun checking the wounded. Cynder, Delious, and Delious’s son helped him, while Vey sat on a deck chair, looking flustered from the attack. Eventually, the captain turned to Delious. Half of his ten-man crew was dead, three others couldn’t walk.

  “This is bad, My Lord,” he said. “We’ll have to stop for more men. We can’t continue on with only two.”

  “My son and I will help,” Delious said.

  “My Lord!” the captain said. “Surely—”

  “I know what to do,” Delious said, interrupting the man with a curt gesture. “No matter what else happens, we have to get to Kezare in time. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” the captain said, still troubled.

  “Tell them I will help, if they need it,” Baon said, watching the conversation and apparently understanding what it was about despite the language barrier.

  “You know how to sail?” Kenton asked with surprise.

  Baon smiled slightly. “You’d be surprised what my training includes, sand master.”

  Kenton nodded. “What about the bodies?” he asked in Lossandin.

  Delious frowned, looking over the corpses. “Throw them on the assassins’ ship,” he decided, nodding to the vessel which was still connected to their own by a couple of hooked ropes. “Then set it afire.”

  “No!” Ais objected, appearing from below decks to survey the destruction. “These men must be buried in deep sand.”

  “We don’t have time to deal with Kershtian foolishness, trackt,” Delious said. “Burning is good enough for these.”

  “A man who is not buried in deep sand never finds his way to the Sand Lord’s embrace,” Ais said firmly. “Place them on the other boat, if you must, but tow it along with us. I will see to them once we reach the city.”

  “That’s a little … morbid, don’t you think?” Kenton asked.

  Ais caught his eyes. “N
ot as morbid as burning them, Ry’Kensha,” he said.

  Kenton sighed. “We might as well humor him, Delious,” he suggested.

  “All right,” Delious agreed.

  #

  Kenton waited apprehensively beside Eric’s door, not certain if he should knock or not. The rest of the day had passed with a muted tone, an amorphous sense of discomfort covering the ship. Eric hadn’t emerged from his quarters since he disappeared down below hours before.

  Kenton lowered his hand. I’ll let him sleep on it, he decided, turning back toward his own room. As he did so, Khriss and the elderly Cynder clomped down the steps.

  Cynder chuckled, nodding toward the door. “I think, perhaps, I shall relocate for the time being. Might I make my bed in your room, Lord Mastrell?”

  “Of course,” Kenton said. “You can have my bunk.”

  “No need,” Cynder said with a raised hand.

  “Cynder, I can’t let you sleep on the—”

  “Why doesn’t he sleep in his own bunk?” a solemn voice asked.

  Kenton froze, watching Eric’s door creep open. He wasn’t certain what he expected to see, so he wasn’t really surprised when he found Eric dressed in nondescript dayside robes. A sword was tied at his waist, sheathed in a scabbard that seemed familiar for some reason.

  Eric’s face, however, was chilling. It was calm, nearly expressionless. His eyes seemed dull when compared to the energy they had once held.

  “Hello, Kenton,” he said, his voice smooth, even, and unhurried. “How long do you think it will be before we arrive?”

  Kenton’s lips parted slightly in surprise. He recognized that voice. It was Eric—the Eric he knew, from years before. He stood formally, as he had been trained by his father. He spoke evenly, with an almost contrived voice.

  “Eric …” he said, somewhat at a loss. “It’s all right, you don’t need to do this. It was a fluke. I’m sorry you got pulled in, but, really, you don’t need to go back to what you were before.”

  “A leader must be prepared to take responsibility for his actions, Kenton,” Eric said smoothly. “Men live or die depending on his ability to make decisions.”